


Into The Wild But Everyone Is Graystripe

by aerinofthestarsandseas



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25488310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerinofthestarsandseas/pseuds/aerinofthestarsandseas
Summary: it's just as the title says lmao
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Into The Wild But Everyone Is Graystripe

_ It was very dark. Graystripe could _ sense something was near. The young tomcat’s eyes opened wide as he scanned the dense undergrowth. This place was unfamiliar, but the strange scents drew him onward, deeper into the shadows. His stomach growled, reminding him of his hunger. He opened his jaws slightly to let the warm smells of the forest reach the scent glands on the roof of his mouth. Musty odors of leaf mold mingled with the tempting aroma of a small furry creature.

Suddenly a flash of gray raced past him. Graystripe stopped still, listening. It was hiding in the leaves less than two tail-lengths away. Graystripe knew it was a mouse—he could feel the rapid pulsing of a tiny heart deep within his ear fur. He swallowed, stifling his rumbling stomach. Soon his hunger would be satisfied.

Slowly he lowered his body into position, crouching for the attack. He was downwind of the mouse. He knew it was not aware of him. With one final check on his prey’s position, Graystripe pushed back hard on his haunches and sprang, kicking up leaves on the forest floor as he rose.

The mouse dived for cover, heading toward a hole in the ground. But Graystripe was already on top of it. He scooped it into the air, hooking the helpless creature with his thorn-sharp claws, flinging it up in a high arc onto the leaf-covered ground. The mouse landed dazed but alive. It tried to run, but Graystripe snatched it up again. He tossed the mouse once more, this time a little farther away. The mouse managed to scramble a few paces before Graystripe caught up with it.

Suddenly a noise roared nearby. Graystripe looked around, and as he did so, the mouse was able to pull away from his claws. When Graystripe turned back he saw it dart into the darkness among the tangled roots of a tree.

Angry, Graystripe gave up the hunt. He spun around, his green eyes glaring, intent on searching out the noise that had cost him his kill. The sound rattled on, becoming more familiar. Graystripe blinked open his eyes.

The forest had disappeared. He was inside a hot and airless kitchen, curled in his bed. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting shadows on the smooth, hard floor. The noise had been the rattle of hard, dried pellets of food as they were tipped into his dish. Graystripe had been dreaming.

Lifting his head, he rested his chin on the side of his bed. His collar rubbed uncomfortably around his neck. In his dream, he had felt fresh air ruffling the soft fur where the collar usually pinched. Graystripe rolled onto his back, savoring the dream for a few more moments. He could still smell the mouse. It was the third time since full moon that he’d had the dream, and every time the mouse had escaped his grasp.

He licked his lips. From his bed, he could smell the bland odor of his food. His owners always refilled his dish before they went to bed. The dusty smell chased away the warm scents of his dream. But the hunger rumbled on in his stomach, so Graystripe stretched the sleep out of his limbs and padded across the kitchen floor to his dinner. The food felt dry and tasteless on his tongue. Graystripe reluctantly swallowed one more mouthful. Then he turned away from the food dish and pushed his way out through the cat flap, hoping that the smell of the garden would bring back the feelings from his dream.

Outside, the moon was bright. It was raining lightly. Graystripe stalked down the tidy garden, following the starlit gravel path, feeling the stones cold and sharp beneath his paws. He made his dirt beneath a large bush with glossy green leaves and heavy purple flowers. Their sickly sweet scent cloyed the damp air around him, and he curled his lip to drive the smell out of his nostrils.

Afterward, Graystripe settled down on top of one of the posts in the fence that marked the limits of his garden. It was a favorite spot of his, as he could see right into the neighboring gardens as well as into the dense green forest on the other side of the garden fence.

The rain had stopped. Behind him, the close-cropped lawn was bathed in moonlight, but beyond his fence, the woods were full of shadows. Graystripe stretched his head forward to take a sniff of the damp air. His skin was warm and dry under his thick coat, but he could feel the weight of the raindrops that sparkled on his ginger fur.

He heard his owners giving him one last call from the back door. If he went to them now, they would greet him with gentle words and caresses and welcome him onto their bed, where he would curl, purring, warm in the crook of a bent knee.

But this time Graystripe ignored his owners’ voices and turned his gaze back to the forest. The crisp smell of the woods had grown fresher after the rain.

Suddenly the fur on his spine prickled. Was something moving out there? Was something watching him? Graystripe stared ahead, but it was impossible to see or smell anything in the dark, tree-scented air. He lifted his chin boldly, stood up, and stretched, one paw gripping each corner of the fencepost as he straightened his legs and arched his back. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the woods once more. It seemed to promise him something, tempting him onward into the whispering shadows. Tensing his muscles, he crouched for a moment. Then he leaped lightly down into the rough grass on the other side of the garden fence. As he landed, the bell on his collar rang out through the still night air.

“Where are you off to, Graystripe?” meowed a familiar voice behind him.

Graystripe looked up. A young gray cat was balancing ungracefully on the fence.

“Hello, Graystripe,” Graystripe replied.

“You’re not going to go into the woods, are you?” Graystripa’s yellow eyes were huge.

“Just for a look,” Graystripe promised, shifting uncomfortably.

“You wouldn’t get me in there. It’s dangerous!” Graystripe wrinkled his black nose with distaste. “Graystripe said he went into the woods once.” The cat lifted his head and gestured with his nose over the rows of fences toward the garden where Henry lived.

“That fat old tabby never went into the woods!” Graystripe scoffed. “He’s hardly been beyond his own garden since his trip to the vet. All he wants to do is eat and sleep.”

“No, really. He caught a robin there!” Graystripe insisted.

“Well, if he did, then it was before the vet. Now he  _ complains _ about birds because they disturb his dozing.”

“Well, anyway,” Graystripe went on, ignoring the scorn in Graystripe’s mew, “Graystripe told me there are all sorts of dangerous animals out there. Huge wildcats who eat live rabbits for breakfast and sharpen their claws on old bones!”

“I’m only going for a look around,” Graystripe meowed. “I won’t stay long.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you!” purred Graystripe. The gray cat turned and plunged off the fence back down into his own garden.

Graystripe sat down in the coarse grass beyond the garden fence. He gave his shoulder a nervous lick and wondered how much of Graystripe’s gossip was true.

Suddenly the movement of a tiny creature caught his eye. He watched it scuttle under some brambles.

Instinct made him drop into a low crouch. With one slow paw after another, he drew his body forward through the undergrowth. Ears pricked, nostrils flared, eyes unblinking, he moved toward the animal. He could see it clearly now, sitting up among the barbed branches, nibbling on a large seed held between its paws. It was a mouse.

Graystripe rocked his haunches from side to side, preparing to leap. He held his breath in case his bell rang again. Excitement coursed through him, making his heart pound. This was even better than his dreams! Then a sudden noise of cracking twigs and crunching leaves made him jump. His bell jangled treacherously, and the mouse darted away into the thickest tangle of the bramble bush.

Graystripe stood very still and looked around. He could see the white tip of a red bushy tail trailing through a clump of tall ferns up ahead. He smelled a strong, strange scent, definitely a meat-eater, but neither cat nor dog. Distracted, Graystripe forgot about the mouse and watched the red tail curiously. He wanted a better look.

All of Graystripe’s senses strained ahead as he prowled forward. Then he detected another noise. It came from behind, but sounded muted and distant. He swiveled his ears backward to hear it better.  _ Pawsteps? _ he wondered, but he kept his eyes fixed on the strange red fur up ahead, and continued to creep onward. It was only when the faint rustling behind him became a loud and fast-approaching leaf-crackle that Graystripe realized he was in danger.

The creature hit him like an explosion and Graystripe was thrown sideways into a clump of nettles. Twisting and yowling, he tried to throw off the attacker that had fastened itself to his back. It was gripping him with incredibly sharp claws. Graystripe could feel spiked teeth pricking at his neck. He writhed and squirmed from whisker to tail, but he couldn’t free himself. For a second he felt helpless; then he froze. Thinking fast, he flipped over onto his back. He knew instinctively how dangerous it was to expose his soft belly, but it was his only chance.

He was lucky—the ploy seemed to work. He heard a “hhuuffff” beneath him as the breath was knocked out of his attacker. Thrashing fiercely, Graystripe managed to wriggle free. Without looking back he sprinted toward his home.

Behind him, a rush of pawsteps told Graystripe his attacker was giving chase. Even though the pain from his scratches stung beneath his fur, GRaystripe decided he would rather turn and fight than let himself be jumped on again.

He skidded to a stop, spun around, and faced his pursuer.

It was another kitten, with a thick coat of shaggy gray fur, strong legs, and a broad face. In a heartbeat, Graystripe smelled that it was a tom, and sensed the power in the sturdy shoulders underneath the soft coat. Then the kitten crashed into Graystripe at full pelt. Taken by surprise by Graystripe’s turnabout, it fell back into a dazed heap.

The impact knocked the breath out of Graystripe, and he staggered. He quickly found his footing and arched his back, puffing out his orange fur, ready to spring onto the other kitten. But his attacker simply sat up and began to lick a forepaw, all signs of aggression gone.

Graystripe felt strangely disappointed. Every part of him was tense, ready for battle.

“Hi there, kittypet!” meowed the gray tom cheerily. “You put up quite a fight for a tame kitty!”

Graystripe remained on tiptoe for a second, wondering whether to attack anyway. Then he remembered the strength he had felt in this kitten’s paws when he had pinned him to the ground. He dropped onto his pads, loosened his muscles, and let his spine unbend. “And I’ll fight you again if I have to,” he growled.

“I’m Graystripe, by the way,” the gray kitten went on, ignoring Graystripe’s threat. “I’m training to be a ThunderClan warrior.”

Graystripe remained silent. He didn’t understand what this Graywhatsit was meowing about, but he sensed the threat had passed. He hid his confusion by leaning down to lick his ruffled chest.

“What’s a kittypet like you doing out in the woods? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?” asked Graystripe.

“If  _ you’re _ the most dangerous thing the woods has to offer, then I think I can handle it,” Graystripe bluffed.

Graystripe looked up at him for a moment, narrowing his big yellow eyes. “Oh, I’m far from the most dangerous. If I were even half a warrior, I’d have given an intruder like you some real wounds to think about.”

Graystripe felt a thrill of fear at these ominous words. What did this cat mean by “intruder”?

“Anyway,” meowed Graystripe, using his sharp teeth to tug a clump of grass from between his claws, “I didn’t think it was worth hurting you. You’re obviously not from one of the other Clans.”

“Other Clans?” Graystripe echoed, confused.

Graystripe let out an impatient hiss. “You must have heard of the four warrior Clans that hunt around here! I belong to ThunderClan. The other Clans are always trying to steal prey from our territory, especially ShadowClan.  _ They’re _ so fierce they would have ripped you to shreds, no questions asked.”

Graystripe paused to spit angrily and continued: “They come to take prey that is rightfully ours. It’s the job of the ThunderClan warriors to keep them out of our territory. When I’ve finished my training, I’ll be so dangerous, I’ll have the other Clans shaking in their flea-bitten skins. They won’t dare come near us then!”

Graystripe narrowed his eyes. This must be one of the wildcats Graystripe had warned him about! Living rough in the woods, hunting and fighting each other for every last scrap of food. Yet Graystripe didn’t feel scared. In fact, it was hard not to admire this confident kitten. “So you’re not a warrior yet?” he asked.

“Why? Did you think I was?” Graystripe purred proudly; then he shook his wide, furry head. “I won’t be a real warrior for ages. I have to go through the training first. Kits have to be six moons old before they even  _ begin _ training. Tonight is my first night out as an apprentice.”

“Why don’t you find yourself an owner with a nice cozy house instead? Your life would be much easier,” Graystripe meowed. “There are plenty of housefolk who’d take in a kitten like you. All you have to do is sit where they can see you and look hungry for a couple of days—”

“And they’d feed me pellets that look like rabbit droppings and soft slop!” Graystripe interrupted. “No way! I can’t think of anything worse than being a  _ kittypet _ ! They’re nothing but Twoleg toys! Eating stuff that doesn’t look like food, making dirt in a box of gravel, sticking their noses outside only when the Twolegs allow them? That’s no life! Out here it’s wild, and it’s free. We come and go as we please.” He finished his speech with a proud spit, then meowed mischievously, “Until you’ve tasted a fresh-killed mouse, you haven’t lived. Have you ever tasted mouse?”

“No,” Graystripe admitted, a little defensively. “Not yet.”

“I guess you’ll never understand.” Graystripe sighed. “You weren’t born wild. It makes a big difference. You need to be born with warrior blood in your veins, or the feel of the wind in your whiskers. Kitties born into Twoleg nests could never feel the same way.”

Graystripe remembered the way he had felt in his dream. “That’s not true!” he mewed indignantly.

Graystripe did not reply. He suddenly stiffened midlick, one paw still raised, and sniffed the air. “I smell cats from my Clan,” he hissed. “You should go. They won’t be pleased to find you hunting in our territory!”

Graystripe looked around, wondering how Graystripe knew any cat was approaching. He couldn’t smell anything different on the leaf-scented breeze. But his fur stood on end at the note of urgency in Graystripe’s voice.

“Quick!” hissed Graystripe again. “Run!”

Graystripe prepared to spring into the bushes, not knowing which way was safe to jump.

He was too late. A voice meowed behind him, firm and menacing. “What’s going on here?”

Graystripe turned to see a large gray cat strolling majestically out from the undergrowth. He was magnificent. White hairs streaked his muzzle, and an ugly scar parted the fur across his shoulders, but his smooth gray coat shone like silver in the moonlight.

“Graystripe!” Beside Graystripe, Graystripe crouched down and narrowed his eyes. He crouched even lower when a second cat—a handsome, gray tom—followed the gray cat into the clearing.

“You shouldn’t be so near Twolegplace, Graystripe!” growled the gray cat angrily, narrowing his yellow eyes.

“I know, Graystripe, I’m sorry.” Graystripe looked down at his paws.

Graystripe copied Graystripe and crouched low to the forest floor, his ears twitching nervously. These cats had an air of strength he had never seen in any of his garden friends. Maybe what Graystripe had warned him about was true.

“Who is this?” asked the gray cat.

Graystripe flinched as he turned his gaze on him. His piercing yellow eyes made him feel even more vulnerable.

“He’s no threat,” mewed Graystripe quickly. “He’s not another Clan warrior, just a Twoleg pet from beyond our territories.”

_ Just a Twoleg pet! _ The words inflamed Graystripe, but he held his tongue. The warning look in Graystripe’s stare told him that he had observed the anger in his eyes, and he looked away.

“This is Graystripe; he’s  _ leader _ of my Clan!” Graystripe hissed to Graystripe under his breath. “And Graystripe. He’s my mentor, which means he’s training me to be a warrior.”

“Thank you for the introduction, Graystripe,” meowed Graystripe coolly.

Graystripe was still staring at Graystripe. “You fight well for a Twoleg pet,” he meowed.

Graystripe and Graystripe exchanged confused glances. How could he know?

“We have been watching you both,” Graystripe went on as if he had read their thoughts. “We wondered how you would deal with an intruder, Graystripe. You attacked him bravely.”

Graystripe looked pleased at Graystripe’s praise.

“Sit up now, both of you!” Graystripe looked at Graystripe. “You too, kittypet.” He sat up immediately and held Graystripe’s gaze evenly as he addressed him.

“You reacted well to the attack, kittypet. Graystripe is stronger than you, but you used your wits to defend yourself. And you turned to face him when he chased you. I’ve not seen a kittypet do that before.”

Graystripe managed to nod his thanks, taken aback by such unexpected praise. His next words surprised him even more.

“I have been wondering how you would perform out here, beyond the Twolegplace. We patrol this border frequently, so I have often seen you sitting on your boundary, staring out into the forest. And now, at last, you have dared to place your paws here.” Graystripe stared at Graystripe thoughtfully. “You do seem to have a natural hunting ability. Sharp eyes. You would have caught that mouse if you had not hesitated so long.”

“R-really?” Graystripe stammered.

Graystripe spoke now. His deep meow was respectful but insistent. “Graystripe, this is a  _ kittypet _ . He should not be hunting in ThunderClan territory. Send him home to his Twolegs!”

Graystripe prickled at Graystripe’s dismissive words. “Send me home?” he mewed impatiently. Graystripe’s words had made him glow with pride. He had noticed him; he had been impressed by him. “But I’ve only come here to hunt for a mouse or two. I’m sure there’s enough to go around.”

Graystripe had turned his head to acknowledge Graystripe’s words. Now his gaze snapped back to Graystripe. His yellow eyes were blazing with anger. “There’s never enough to go around,” he spat. “If you didn’t live such a soft, overfed life, you would know that!”

Graystripe was confused by Graystripe’s sudden rage, but one glance at the horrified look on Graystripe’s face was enough to tell him he had spoken too freely. Graystripe stepped to his leader’s side. Both warriors loomed over him now. Graystripe looked into Graystripe’s threatening stare and his pride dissolved. These were not cozy fireside cats he was dealing with—they were mean, hungry cats who were probably going to finish what Graystripe had started.


End file.
